Chapter 9
Nine
Ella
The next morning, I wake up slowly, stretching and yawning and burrowing deeper into the blankets.
Yesterday, Jack and I spent the day together inside as the snow gradually came to a stop.
We watched Christmas movies (while he played with my pussy, teasing me for ages before letting me come), baked cookies, drank hot chocolate, and talked for hours and hours.
We talked about our childhoods, our families, the future we saw unfolding before us.
I’m not going back to Edmonton. I’m going to stay here in Honey Ridge, with Jack. I’m his now, and he’s mine, and while it’s fast and crazy and dizzying, it’s what we both want. It feels right.
A part of me wonders if I died in that car crash, because being here with Jack, who is unbelievably sweet and funny and caring and HOT, feels like heaven.
There’s a line in a famous song that says “have I known you twenty seconds, or twenty years?” and that’s how it feels with Jack.
I know that my life will be forever delineated into Before Jack and After Jack.
I roll over in bed and find he’s not there.
I sit up slowly, stretching again. I can hear the whine of a snowblower outside.
When I pull back the curtain, I find more gray skies, but the snow has stopped falling, and the clouds look thinner and higher than before.
I can see Jack outside, bundled up against the cold as he clears the driveway of snow.
When I turn, something catches my eye in the corner of the room.
“My suitcase!” Jack had mentioned that if the snow cleared this morning, they were going to have my car towed out and my things retrieved. Looks like they were successful. God, what time is it? I find my phone on the bedside table and shake my head at myself when I see that it’s after ten.
I guess all those orgasms wore me out. I was still horny before bed last night, but Jack was worried about how sore I was, so we kissed and he played with my nipples as I rode his thigh until I came, shaking in his arms.
Sigh. I’m so lucky.
I dive into my suitcase, eager to have my things back. I pull on a red sweater and a pair of black pants, then pull my hair into a high ponytail with a satiny dark green scrunchie. I head to the bathroom and put a little makeup on—some mascara on my pale lashes, a bit of blush.
Just as I’m coming down the stairs, Jack steps back into the house, cheeks red from the cold. He grins when he sees me.
“Found your things, I see.”
I smile and nod. “Thanks for getting it for me.”
“It was no problem. I don’t know that there’s going to be much they can do for your car, though. It’s probably totaled.”
“Oh. Well. If that’s the case, I guess there’s nothing to be done.”
He shrugs out of his jacket. “We can get you a new one.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but to me, it is. My chest feels tight, and I say what’s been on my mind.
“You know, if I’m going to stay here, I should look for a job.”
Jack’s eyebrows shoot up as he toes off his boots and then heads for the kitchen. God, I love watching him move. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
“If that’s what you want, sure. But you don’t have to work if you don’t want to. I’m happy to take care of you, sweetheart.”
Something inside me goes all hot and melty at his words, and I grin at him, probably looking like the lovestruck puppy that I am. “That’s sweet, but I need something to do with my time.”
He nods. “Then I’ll make sure to introduce you to everyone in town today.”
“In town?”
“Now that the snow’s cleared, the Christmas market is back up and running. I thought we could go check it out, let you get a taste of Honey Ridge beyond dark, snowy roads and the four walls of my house.”
My grin widens. “I’d really like that.”
After a quick breakfast, we head into town. It’s a short drive, but I enjoy the snow-covered scenery as “A Holly Jolly Christmas” plays through the truck’s speakers. The second we turn onto the main strip, my breath catches.
Honey Ridge looks like a Christmas postcard.
Wreaths hang from every lamppost, their pine boughs dusted with fresh snow.
Twinkle lights crisscross overhead, casting golden glows on the cobblestone sidewalks.
Storefronts are decked in garlands and red bows.
At the far end of the street, the Christmas market sprawls out—rows of red-and-white striped tents with dozens and dozens of people milling about, chatting and laughing.
Jack parks the truck, and when he opens my door, his hand finds the small of my back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The touch sends a happy little thrill through me.
“I guess this is kinda like our first date,” I say, smiling up at him, and he pulls me a little closer.
“I guess so. First of many, sweetheart.”
We haven’t even made it two steps before someone calls out.
“Chief Carter! Glad to see you made it through the storm! It was a bad one, eh?”
Jack tips his chin in a nod, his grip on me tightening just a fraction. “Morning, Tom. This is my girlfriend, Ella.”
The older man’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Welcome to Honey Ridge, Miss Ella.”
My cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
We don’t get far before it happens again.
“Jack! Thought that was you.” A woman with a clipboard waves, her gaze flicking to me. “And you’ve got company, I see.”
Jack doesn’t hesitate. “Ella, this is Lydia. She runs the bakery. Lydia, this is my girlfriend, Ella.”
Girlfriend. The word sends a thrill through me, even as Linda’s smile falters for half a second before she recovers.
“Lovely to meet you, Ella.”
“You too,” I say, my breath puffing white in the cold.
We make it another few feet before three young boys come running up to us to say hi to Chief Jack and give him high fives.
Jack reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out some stickers designed to look like Honey Ridge FD badges, the boys grinning as he hands them out. They run off as fast as they arrived.
I glance up at him. “You’re popular.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Small town. Everyone knows everyone.”
“Oh, and he’s humble, too. Look at that.”
Jack laughs and takes my hand. His fingers thread through mine, big and warm, as we weave through the market stalls.
The scent of roasted chestnuts and pine hangs thick in the air, mixing with the sharp bite of winter.
I press closer to Jack’s side, my shoulder brushing his arm, and he squeezes my hand.
A stall draped in handwoven scarves catches his eye. He stops, pulling me with him, his free hand already reaching out to finger the soft wool.
“This one,” he says quietly, lifting a pale blue scarf shot through with white threads.
“It’s the exact shade of your beautiful eyes.
” He pulls it down and pays the seller with a quick tap of his credit card.
It’s such a simple, sweet gift, but it means more than any of the expensive things I’ve ever received.
Because it’s from him. Because it reminds him of me. Because he wants to.
I bite my lip as he drapes it around my neck, his knuckles grazing my collarbone. The wool is impossibly soft, but not half as soft as the way he’s looking at me.
“Jack,” I breathe, but he just tucks the ends in, adjusting it like he’s dressing me for the cold, like it’s his job to keep me warm.
“Perfect,” he says in that low, possessive voice that makes my stomach turn over on itself.
We move on, and I spot a stall selling hand-blown glass ornaments, each one unique.
I tug Jack forward to check out the display, and I see the one I want almost immediately.
My fingers hover over a delicate snowflake, its edges catching the light, fractals of silver and blue swirling together like the storm that brought me to him.
“I want to get this for you,” I say, turning to him. “For your tree.”
“Our tree,” he says with a grin, and I’m smiling too as I quickly pay for the ornament, using my own credit card.
Jack’s throat works as he takes it from me, turning it over in his big hands. His eyes are bright when they meet mine. “To remember the night I found you.”
I nod. “The night it all started.”
His voice is rough when he says, “I love it, sweetheart.”
And then he’s kissing me, right there in the middle of the street, his gloved hands cupping my face like I’m something precious.
The scarf flutters between us, the snowflake ornament clutched tight in his grip.
I hear the murmur of voices around us, feel the weight of curious glances, but for the first time in my life, I don’t care.
I’m not performing.
I’m not being judged.
I’m just loved, exactly as I am.
When we break apart, my cheeks are warm despite the cold, my lips tingling.
The scent of cinnamon and sugar pulls us toward a bakery stall, where trays of gingerbread cookies, peppermint bark, and buttery shortbread are stacked high. Jack’s hand lingers on my lower back as he leans in, his breath tickling my ear.
“What do you want, sweetheart?”
You, I think, but I just point to a bag of assorted treats and a steaming cup of apple cider. Jack orders two, pressing a kiss to my temple before paying.
We’re barely two sips in when a deep voice booms behind us.
“Guess he didn’t get buried in the storm after all.”
Jack turns, grinning, and I find myself facing three men—two with strollers, one with his arm slung around a very pregnant woman—and two other women, all bundled in coats and scarves, their faces bright with smiles.
“Ford, Beau, Logan,” Jack says, clapping hands with each of them in turn. “And their better halves—Sophia, Hailey, and Kaylee.” His palm finds my back again, grounding me. “This is my girlfriend, Ella.”
Sophia, the pregnant one, steps forward first, her dark eyes warm. “Finally, someone brave enough to put up with this grump.” She nudges Jack with her elbow, but her smile is fond.